Unmoored
by Trollmela
Summary: It's 3 AM in the morning, a few hours after Obadiah Stane's death, and Tony is wide awake and hasn't stopped hunting Stane. (Set during the first Ironman movie)
"You're not sleeping," Rhodey stated bleary-eyed at 3 AM in the morning.

"Of course not," Tony replied. "I have work to do."

"Can't it wait?"

"No," the millionaire insisted and reached for his drink. Rhodey got there first.

"Woah! Painkillers and meds don't mix well!"

Tony glared at him but didn't attempt to take it back. "Killjoy." After a moment, his eyes back on the screen, he added: "I'm not taking any."

"What?! You nearly died and you look like hell!"

Tony sneered half-heartedly. "Thanks, honey."

Rhodey sighed and sat down next to his friend. Tony didn't prevent him from seeing the screen, so he looked his fill.

"Looks like you're doing some serious hacking there."

"Offshore bank accounts and companies," Tony replied. "Of course Obie couldn't sell me out or my weapons using the regular SI accounts. No, he spread his money anonymously across the world and now I have to track it all down. The money mostly belongs to me anyhow; apparently Obie took more than his fair share of a salary." Tony snorted. "Thankfully he kept records of all of his dirty dealings, and Pepper managed to copy them all before he came after us. Not that it matters. I'll find all of it, I don't care how long it takes."

Rhodey sighed. There was Tony Stark, angry, betrayed, bruised and half dead only hours after his showdown with Obediah Stane. And only hours away from a big press conference, because nothing could have hidden the rampage on the highway or the big blast blowing up a Stark Industries factory.

"I still don't get why it can't wait. They're not going to disappear, right?"

Tony's typing halted briefly, then resumed. Rhodey was resting his head on the back of the sofa and had his eyes closed.

"They shouldn't, no. But if I can't sleep anyway, I might as well do something useful."

"Aren't you tired at all?"

"No." The answer sounded short and terse.

Rhodey opened his eyes and leant further into Tony's space. "Look, Tony, I get that you're angry."

"I'm not sure angry really covers it." Tony sounded amazingly calm.

"Did Stane have any family?" Rhodey changed the topic.

"Two ex-wives, no children. A distant cousin in Ohio; they haven't been in contact for a while."

Rhodey was willing to bet that Tony didn't know those details because Stane had told him.

"What will you do with the money in the offshore accounts then? Keep it?"

"I'm taking it back. Most of it is mine." He looked up briefly. "Which I think I just mentioned."

Yes, Tony had said that, but neither of them were feeling up to their usual. For Rhodey, it was one thing to fight in Afghanistan as part of his job. It was quite another to first lose a friend there, and then, when he's still feeling relieved from getting said friend back alive, watching him fight for his life again.

"Think about it: how are you going to bring the money back to SI without someone, IRS, FBI, your accounting department, wondering where the money is coming from. And–oh look!–it's from Panama, and Hong Kong, and Delaware!"

Tony, amazingly, stopped typing again and leaned back.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Rhodey could forgive his genius friend for forgetting some things.

"What about letting the authorities handle them?"

"What authority?" Tony shot back. "That Strategic Home Logistics whatever organization is going to cover up Stane's death! If I then go around telling IRS that I found his offshore money, just by accident, of course, it's going to be all over the news sooner or later, and someone will take a closer look at Obie's death." Tony snorted. "I'm frankly surprised that nobody caught his face on camera. And I'm not convinced that the engineers involved in his project won't sell the story or write a book one day."

Rhodey understood. "None of them were there during the fight, but they know of course that Stane wanted to have it built and was one of the few people with access."

"Exactly." Tony rubbed two fingers against his forehead, grimacing with pain.

"Do you want some painkillers?" Rhodey offered. He knew that telling Tony to take some, or heaven forbid, ordering him, would achieve exactly nothing.

To his relief, Tony nodded.

When Rhodey returned with the strongest Ibuprofen he'd been able to find and a glass of water, Tony still hadn't resumed his work.

"How about this: leave these accounts to Strategy Homeland Enforcing whatever."

Rhodey might be able to remember the name if someone who didn't butcher it every time told him.

"If they can cover up maniac CEOs blowing up a highway and a factory in the middle of LA, they can deal with some embezzled money."

Tony didn't react, but he wasn't staring at the computer screen anymore.

"Is it a lot?" Rhodey dared to ask.

"A couple of millions."

Rhodey swallowed. For him that was a lot of money. For Tony? Maybe not, but this wasn't just about the money.

"You know what?" Tony straightened, and put his laptop on the table.

"I don't care. You're right, they can handle it. And if at some point my accounting department wakes up to the fact that money went missing, I'm not going to protect Obie's reputation."

"Maybe they can get your money back for you. Don't worry about that for now."

Tony shut the laptop. He still looked haunted.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading. Reviews are always welcome._**


End file.
